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by hannah_baker



Series: Lake Life Verse [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Jordie's complete unwillingness to accept comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: After breaking his arm, Jordie knows he has a lot to contend with. Who knew his biggest challenge would just be accepting the care Dylan is trying to give him?





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my sweet anon who requested some hurt/comfort where Jordie is the one receiving the comfort instead of Dylan. Cause, girl. You have my number. That is my go-to. But this was a good challenge! And Jordie's unwillingness to just fucking be comforted is exactly how I felt while writing this haha. 
> 
> This is set in like, Feb/March after the events of Lake Life, but if you didn't read Lake Life, that's cool too. You won't be lost. There's no plot here.

Jordie felt the bone crunch as he was flung hard into the boards. And then it was just adrenaline, a swarm of trainers, bright lights, pain killers, a splint, and the order to go home in the morning instead of flying from New York to Boston with his team. 

 

Jordie had a broken left arm, his team had lost, and his boy was all the way in Montreal. He was having a shitty fucking night. 

 

The team made it back to their hotel after, their condolences for Jordie heavy for the broken bone and for not winning it for him. By the time he was injured, the game was too far gone to save anyway. Jordie went back to his room, stripped to his boxers, and collapsed into bed. 

 

Even though he was on pain medicine, his whole body still felt like shit. He was wiped out. He wanted the day to be over. He pulled the blankets up over him and called his boy. 

 

“Fuck,” Dylan said as he picked up the phone. “Fuck are you okay?” Jordie had called him briefly after the hit to let him know the situation—that he had a broken arm and would be home the next day. But he hadn’t had much time to spend on the phone. 

 

“Baby,” Jordie said, just grateful to hear Dylan’s voice. Jordie hated putting any extra stress on Dylan, especially so close to midterms. Realistically, he’d be out for the rest of the season, and he was laying there worrying about Dylan’s grades. That felt about right to him. “I’m fine. Grumpy.” 

 

“I wish I was there,” Dylan said. 

 

“You and Juice in bed?” Jordie asked. Dylan laughed. The sound of Dylan’s laugh was healing in it of itself. 

 

“Yeah,” Dylan said. Jordie knew Juice laid in his spot when he was gone, and he couldn’t believe how jealous he was of his dog at that moment in time. “Missing you.” Usually, he and Dylan had somewhat productive conversations when Jordie was on the road. How their days went, venting, funny things they saw that reminded them of each other. But tonight, all Jordie could think about was the distance. 

 

“I’ll be home so soon,” he said. The drugs they gave him were good and were making him sleepy. He had two alarms set on his phone, and the guys knew to make sure he woke up on time to get to the airport with the boys. Shea had the second keycard to his room in an emergency. He’d fly out on a different plane, headed back to Montreal to see his doctor. To be with Dylan. 

 

He plugged his phone in to charge and held it close to his ear, letting Dylan talk him to sleep, the worry evening out of his voice once Jordie asked him to tell him about his classes and what tests he was studying for. Dylan had this sharpness in his voice when he talked about his workload that Jordie really dug, a combination of annoyance and challenge that usually kind of turned him on. Instead, Jordie found comfort in it, slipped into sleep. 

 

\---

 

Jordie was in pain in the morning for sure, a deep throb that seemed to radiate through his entire arm and up his shoulder. He had a handful of texts from Dylan on his phone, a few picture messages of him shirtless and messy-haired in bed, tangled in their sheets, that made Jordie long for teleportation technology. 

 

He packed his shit up haphazardly and made his way down to breakfast where he ate in order to have enough in his stomach for some more pain meds. At the airport, he split from his team and got on a plane home. 

 

_ Home.  _ He didn’t think he’d ever call somewhere that wasn’t Victoria ‘home.’ He lived in Texas for years and it never quite felt like home. When he moved to Montreal he was almost positive it would never earn that feeling. But Montreal meant Dylan. And Dylan was home. 

 

By the time he got dropped off by a taxi at their condo building and made his way up to their door, he was worn the fuck out. But the door opened like Dylan had been listening for footfalls in the hallway, and suddenly he had his boy in his arms, hugging him tightly, careful of his arm. Dylan pressed these careful kisses to Jordie’s cheek, and Jordie rolled his eyes. 

 

“My arm is broken, not my mouth,” he said, and the look on Dylan’s face, full of worry the moment before, liquified a little with want. Jordie dropped his bag on the floor so he could grab Dylan’s chin with his good hand and pull him into a real kiss. 

 

The past sixteen or so hours had been hell, but Jordie felt like he could breathe again, back home with Dylan in his arms, Dylan’s lips on his. When they had moved in together, Jordie had worried about them losing the fire they had for each other, the way they both felt desperate to be with each other. And maybe part of keeping that fire intact was Jordie’s insane schedule—distance makes the heart grow fonder or whatever—but they were still a little obsessed with each other. Jordie had never been in a relationship like this before. 

 

Dylan pulled him all the way inside and closed the door behind him, leaving Jordie’s bags in the entry to be dealt with later. Jordie slipped his shoes and coat off, and let Dylan lead him into the kitchen where he had a little pile of provisions on the breakfast bar. A water, a Gatorade, a little bottle of orange juice, a protein bar, an ice pack, a bottle of Advil. 

 

“Baby,” Jordie said, giving Dylan a look. Jordie felt warm and spoiled, but he knew Dylan had better things to worry about. “You’re not ignoring your midterms, are you?” 

 

Dylan looked away briefly, and Jordie knew he was either about to lie, or he wanted to lie. “I um, fuck, Jord, you think I can study now?” That sounded like the truth. 

 

“It’s just my arm, I’m fine. It’s not my head. It’s not my knee. I’m fine,” Jordie repeated. “Will you study if I sit in the office with you?” 

 

“I…” Dylan was giving him an incredulous look, like he could not believe Jordie’s current priorities. 

  
“Please?” Jordie asked. 

 

Dylan let out a long, put-upon sigh. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

 

“My dumb arm is a stupid reason to not do well on your tests,” he lectured. His arm ached, and he desperately wanted something to take his mind off of it. But Jordie fell into a care-taking role so easily. This felt natural to him, and that was kind of nice, too. 

 

“Fine. I will study for a half hour. Thirty minutes.” Dylan collected all the crap he had laid out for Jordie and hauled it into the office, dropping it on the side table by the couch. Dylan’s desk was a huge disaster of books and papers and pens everywhere. It made Jordie’s skin crawl a little, but it was Dylan’s space, and he wasn’t going to micromanage it.

 

Jordie settled on the couch. Dylan cracked the orange juice open for him, took the lid off the Advil just in case he wanted a few. “Why did we decide Juice should go to daycare today again?” Jordie asked. He knew why. He just missed his dog more than he thought he was going to. 

 

“Because we didn’t want him to be around until you’re casted. He’s...you know he’d jump on you.” It was true. Juice was the best dog in the world, but exuberant with his love. Jordie imagined how fucking painful it would be if Juice put his weight on Jordie’s arm in just an ace bandage and a splint, and he took a sharp breath. 

 

“Yeah, that’s why,” Dylan said, as though he could see Jordie’s thoughts. 

 

“Okay, okay. Study,” Jordie commanded, and Dylan sat in his desk chair and flipped a book open. Jordie pulled his phone out and started the slow process of one-handed texting his family and some teammates. A few friends from back home who were worried. A couple former Stars he was in a group message with. 

 

Ten minutes passed, then twelve. Jordie pulled up an article on his injury and how he’d be out for the rest of the season when he heard Dylan snap his book shut. 

 

“This isn’t working,” he said, getting up from his desk chair and heading over to the couch. Carefully minding Jordie’s arm, he dropped himself into Jordie’s lap, the bulk of Dylan’s weight on his own knees as he straddled Jordie. Jordie loved having Dylan in his lap. He wrapped his good arm around Dylan’s waist and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his chest. 

 

“Tell me about this,” Dylan said, using just the tips of his fingers to guide Jordie’s broken arm carefully between them. 

 

Jordie shrugged. “Doctor will have more to say about it this afternoon I guess. I’ll get a cast, and be out for the rest of the season.” 

 

“Yeah, I could have read that all online. Tell me about...I don’t know. Tell me about you. Are you scared? Does it hurt?” 

 

Dylan was giving him the most concerned eyes, one hand cradling Jordie’s broken arm between them, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard, like Dylan was about to lose him. Dylan hunched, his string bean of a body curling down so he could press his forehead to Jordie’s. Jordie had been so lost in his own shit that he hadn’t really thought about how this was affecting Dylan. How Dylan would be worried. He thought about what would happen if the tables were reversed, and the thought of Dylan injured made Jordie want to burn something to the ground. 

 

“It…” Jordie started, searching for something to say. “I’m really fucking disappointed my season is over,” he said. It was hard to admit it. He was trying to put on this brave face for his teammates and for Dylan but...for what? The whole point of Dylan loving him was to not have to put up walls like this. “I’m in pain. I’m worried I’m going to be forgotten about. I worried about not playing hockey until the fall. Just... _ fuck _ .” 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Dylan said, his hand drifting up from Jordie’s shoulder to tangle into the hair at the back of his neck. 

 

Jordie tipped his head up to ask for a kiss, and Dylan obliged, pressing the gentlest kiss to his lips. 

 

Jordie groaned. “Baby, c’mon,” he said, pulling Dylan’s hips closer to his own with his good arm.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dylan said, the tension on his face clearly displaying how great the threat Dylan thought kissing would be to his arm. “I just want to take care of you.” 

 

“You’re not going to hurt me as long as you’re not twisting my arm around,” Jordie said. He was chronically terrible at asking for what he wanted, what he needed. But it seemed like Dylan needed some direction if Jordie was going to get anything other than a bottle of Advil, too many beverages, and some gentle kisses. “It would be nice to have a bit of a...distraction.” 

 

Dylan’s eyebrows quirked up when he realized what Jordie meant. He leaned back a bit, to get a better look at Jordie’s face. “Oh. A distraction, huh? You’re up for a distraction?”

 

“Fuck, Dylan, jeez, it’s a broken arm, not a broken dick.” As soon as the idea of fucking Dylan entered his mind, he couldn’t get it out. Dylan could get him going zero to sixty without even trying, but sitting in his lap and looking at him with those dark, concerned eyes didn’t help anything. 

 

“Alright, alright,” Dylan said, climbing out of Jordie’s lap. He reached for Jordie’s good hand to pull him up from the couch. “Bed, probably.” 

 

“Yeah,” Jordie agreed. No need to up the ante for feel-better sex. Dylan led him down the short hall to their bedroom, and Jordie smiled at how messy it always got when he was gone even overnight, the sheets rumpled and unmade, Dylan’s dirty clothes on the floor near the hamper but not in the hamper. Through the door to their ensuite, Jordie could see Dylan’s towel in a pile. He tried to ignore the part of his brain that was insisting that it must still be damp, and pulled Dylan close to him with one good arm and one very careful broken one. 

 

Dylan’s kiss was still careful and tentative. But Jordie got some tongue out of this one, and when Dylan pressed his hips forward, Jordie could feel that he was starting to get hard in his sweats. Jordie groaned. The feeling of Dylan against him after breaking his arm and being so far away from him was like nothing else. He was dizzy with it, could only feel the slide of Dylan’s tongue, the press of his dick, the arms Dylan had wrapped around his neck. 

 

They kissed until Dylan was breathless, until when Jordie slowly pulled away, Dylan’s cheeks were bright and flushed, his eyes blown, lips puffy from kissing. Dylan was long limbs, and leftover teenage hormones, and eyes that could look so, so sad, and Jordie just wanted to come inside of him. He had no better, nicer, cleaner way of phrasing it. He just wanted to be part of Dylan. 

 

Then Dylan was scrabbling at clothes, peeling his own shirt off first before going to carefully, gently help Jordie out of his t-shirt. He was almost too delicate about it, but Jordie could see that Dylan needed this, needed to baby him a little bit. 

 

Dylan gently pulled the t-shirt over Jordie’s splinted arm and dropped it to the floor before dropping to the floor himself, on his knees in front of Jordie. He tugged open the fly to Jordie’s khakis and nuzzled his face into Jordie’s underwear before pulling his dick out, giving him a lick before sucking him down. 

 

Dylan didn’t exactly have the most subtle dick sucking technique in the world, but he was effective and he was enthusiastic, and Jordie would prefer enthusiasm to anything. He curled his good hand into Dylan’s hair and watched as he disappeared into Dylan’s mouth over and over again, Dylan’s lips wet and shiny. Dylan’s eyes drifting up to him to check in. Jordie gave him a smile, tugged his hair gently to let him know that this felt great, but it might be nice to explore some other options. 

 

Dylan pulled off and slid Jordie’s pants and underwear down his legs, pulling them off and taking his socks with him. “Go lay down,” Dylan said, and Jordie obeyed, keeping his eyes on Dylan as he finished stripping himself bare. 

 

Dylan fished some lube out of the side table as Jordie settled against the headboard, legs spread, dick hard and wet between them. He was careful of his arm as he moved on the bed, but even though his arm ached, his mind was far away from it, painkillers and a naked boyfriend doing wonders for his discomfort. 

 

Dylan climbed up on the bed, swinging a leg over Jordie’s waist and settling on his hips. His hair was messy from Jordie’s hands and his lips were parted and slowly curling into a smile as he took Jordie in. Jordie watched as Dylan’s dick twitched just looking at him. 

 

“Jesus, baby,” Jordie said, slapping Dylan’s hip a bit before getting a good grip on it, his skin so warm and soft. 

 

“It’s not my fault you look like that,” Dylan said. One of the best things about the last several months of being with Dylan was watching him gain some confidence in the bedroom. When they’d started having sex, Jordie didn’t think that Dylan would have crawled up on top of him like this, wouldn’t have slicked his own fingers up and reached behind himself to stretch himself out. 

 

Now, he was doing just that, and in addition he was giving Jordie a knowing look, like he knew exactly what this was doing to him. He couldn’t see Dylan’s fingers working himself open, but he could watch the way Dylan’s eyes fluttered shut as he did it. 

 

“You know, I do have one working hand,” Jordie said, running his palm up Dylan’s hip to his ribcage, then down to his thigh. Dylan shivered, but Jordie thought it probably had more to do with the fingers in his ass than the hand on his thigh. 

 

“This is about me taking care of you,” Dylan said, covering the hand Jordie had on his thigh with his own.

 

“Making you feel good makes me feel good,” Jordie said. It was true. He was such a  _ giver _ in every aspect of his life, but nowhere more so than in bed with Dylan. Anywhere with Dylan. 

 

“Well tough,” Dylan said. He slid his fingers out and slicked Jordie’s dick up with sure, strong strokes. He held Jordie behind him as he slowly, slowly sank down on him. Dylan was hot and tight. Every single time he got to sink into Dylan felt like a privilege. Something to cherish and remember. 

  
Jordie bottomed out in Dylan, and Dylan took a deep breath, his hands coming to rest on Jordie’s chest for a moment before he curled down to press a kiss to Jordie’s lips. Jordie brought both hands up to cup Dylan’s jaw, pull him into a deeper kiss, but Dylan pulled away. 

 

“Oh, no,” he said, scolding Jordie. He pushed Jordie’s broken arm back down to the bed. “That stays there or I stop.” He lifted his hips just slightly and pushed back down, giving Jordie a taste of what he’d be losing. 

 

Jordie took a shaky breath. The sight of Dylan over him was overwhelming. Jordie would have agreed to anything in order to keep Dylan moving. “Yeah, yes,” Jordie said. “I’ll be good.” 

 

Dylan smiled and rewarded him with a kiss before sitting up straight on him and using his hands on Jordie’s chest to help him get some momentum going. He started with a slow grind that made Jordie’s toes tingle, made his hips buck. 

 

“You like that?” Dylan asked, using his thighs now to work up on down on Jordie’s dick. 

 

“Fuck,” was all Jordie could figure out how to say. He wanted to touch every part of Dylan, wanted to hold him close, press kisses to every inch of his skin. 

 

Dylan bounced on Jordie until a punched-out groan left his lips and his head tipped back. HIs fingers lost purchase on Jordie’s chest. Jordie couldn’t take it anymore. He kept his broken arm to the side where Dylan wanted it, but he used his good arm to pull Dylan to him by the waist, curling him back toward him. 

 

“Kiss me,” Jordie said, and Dylan’s lips found his, landing messy kiss after messy kiss on Jordie’s lips as he worked himself back on Jordie’s dick. “God, you feel so good.” 

 

He could feel Dylan smile into their kiss. Dylan was a sucker for praise, and Jordie liked doling it out, like the flush raise on his chest, liked when he looked away a little, bashful. But that morning, Jordie just got his hand on the back of Dylan’s neck and kept kissing him as Dylan kept moving. 

 

They dissolved into gasping into each other’s mouths, sharing breath as the rhythm of Dylan’s hips stuttered, his thighs getting tired. Dylan dropped a hand down to get a grip on his own dick, tucking his head into the crook of Jordie’s shoulder as his hips stuttered back onto Jordie’s dick, then forward into his tight grip. 

 

Neither of them were known for their endurance when it came to reunion sex in general, but Jordie wasn’t used to having Dylan on top of him like this, when Dylan was almost one hundred percent in control. If Jordie had use of both of his hands, he’d grab Dylan’s hips and fuck up into him, or roll Dylan over onto his back. 

 

Instead, he just locked eyes with Dylan, whose mouth was hanging open and panting, lips red and swollen, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looked so good, fucked out and in ecstacy. Jordie couldn’t hold back anymore. He planted his feet on the mattress and gave Dylan a few surprise thrusts before he came, pulsing into him. 

 

“Fuck, baby,” Dylan whined. Jordie could tell he was close, and he snaked his hand between them to close over Dylan’s, tightening Dylan’s grip on his own dick. Dylan’s hips stuttered into it as his orgasm spilled onto Jordie’s stomach, the contractions on Jordie’s dick overwhelming. Jordie slid out as Dylan shook through his orgasm, his body going soft and boneless. 

 

Dylan’s face was still tucked close to Jordie’s and Dylan nuzzled his cheek, soft and sweet. “I missed you,” he said. 

 

Jordie wiped the mess on his hand off on the sheet and rubbed down Dylan’s back. Dylan was a heavy, useless weight on top of him. It felt almost better than the orgasm to be so close to him, to be back in their bed where Jordie dreamed of being every single day he was on a road trip. “I missed you so much.” 

 

Dylan gave himself a few more moments to be still and pressed against Jordie before he pushed off and climbed out of bed on shaky legs. Jordie made a move to get up, but Dylan held out a hand. “Stay put,” he said, and Jordie did. 

 

He let Dylan grab a damp cloth from the bathroom, let Dylan wipe his stomach down before taking care of cleaning himself up. Then Dylan slipped on some boxers and tossed Jordie a pair. He got them on pretty easily one handed. 

 

“Okay, scootch a little forward,” Dylan told him, and Jordie humored him, letting Dylan climb back into bed and slide behind him so that Jordie could rest against Dylan’s chest. 

 

It was nice, and it was different. Jordie was so good at turning whatever situation they were up against into an opportunity to spoil Dylan a little, focus on his boyfriend instead of himself. Jordie tried to let himself relax against Dylan, resting his bad arm on Dylan’s thigh. He could still feel how tense his body was. It was hard to let go. 

 

“Man, you are bad at this,” Dylan said. Apparently he could feel Jordie’s tension too. His arms were wrapped around Jordie’s chest, voice close to his ear. “Just pretend that you’re injured and your boyfriend is trying to make you feel better, okay?”

 

“I’m sorry I’m making this hard on you,” Jordie apologized. He knew how nice it felt for him to take care of Dylan. How nice it was that Dylan let him so easily. 

 

“There you go again, making this about me. Shit, Benn.” His tone was light and airy for the first time that morning, letting Jordie know he wasn’t actually upset. “Just means you’re gonna need some practice letting me take care of you.”

 

“Oh, are there going to be trial runs, do-overs?” Jordie asked. That he could get into. 

 

“There’s gonna be a cast pretty soon, and you might need help bathing. That’s all I’m saying.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Jordie admitted. He didn’t want to get into a bathtub with his splint, but even the idea of it, being in their huge tub together letting Dylan scrub him down, let Dylan wash his hair. He could feel himself relax just thinking about it. 

 

“There you go,” Dylan said, kissing Jordie’s temple. They stayed like that for a while, until Dylan could feel Jordie start to drift. 

 

“When’s your appointment? Should we take a nap?” 

 

“Gotta be there at two-thirty,” Jordie said, voice heavy like he was on the edge of sleep. Dylan checked the alarm clock next to the bed. It was just a little past ten. He reached over to set it for noon, then began the process of readjusting them. 

 

Jordie naturally collapsed on his side and reached out for Dylan in order to tuck him against his chest the way they always slept, either spooning or curled together. 

 

“It’s like you’re not even paying attention,” Dylan said, nudging Jordie’s hip until he understood. He would not be the big spoon in this napping situation. He gave Dylan an indulgent smile, a  _ yes-dear-you-can-take-care-of-me _ smile before turning to his other side. Dylan wasn’t exactly a small person. He was tall and he was getting broader by the day. Pressed against Jordie’s back, he was a presence. Jordie had to admit, even if it wasn’t out loud, that it was comforting. 

 

Dylan’s hand stroked up and down Jordie’s chest until Jordie dipped back into sleep. He would be grateful when this whole mess was over. But until then, it was much, much better to have Dylan to take care of him than it would be to do this alone. 

 

\---

 

Jordie was bored. Three weeks into his IR, and there were only so many lower-body workouts he could do. He was involved with his team when they were on home ice, but he wasn’t traveling with them, and they were on a four-game trip. There were only so many cooking shows that he could watch before he went insane. 

 

Dylan saw him fidgeting from the other end of the couch and put his book down. Jordie already felt guilty for Dylan’s midterm grades which hadn't been Dylan's best work. He felt so guilty needing Dylan at all. But he couldn’t hide from Dylan. Dylan always saw right through him. 

 

“Alright, c’mere,” Dylan said, settling against the pillows at one end of the couch and spreading his legs. He patted his chest, raised his eyebrows at Jordie like  _ get over here you baby.  _ Jordie went. 

 

He settled with a cheek against Dylan’s chest, his red cast tucked between Dylan and the couch. He hadn’t let anyone sign it, but Dylan had drawn a little black sharpie heart in the palm that made him smile every time it caught his eye. The boys teased him for it, but whatever. It was  _ Dylan.  _

 

Dylan let his hands run over the back of Jordie’s neck. He scratched through the Habs t-shirt he was wearing, over his shoulders and down his spine. As much as Jordie liked being the one who was taking care, he was beginning to enjoy being taken care of. Dylan took his job very seriously—too seriously, honestly, if the number of classes he’d skipped recently was any indication. But it was a weekend, so Jordie let himself take a breath, enjoy the way Dylan’s hands drifted back up into his hair. 

 

Dylan had long fingers and strong hands and gave the best scalp massages that Jordie had ever had. It had become their go-to for when Jordie was stressed or restless. Jordie’s discomfort was caused so infrequently by his arm. Outside of his cast itching, and it being a pain to shower, it wasn’t much of an actual pain anymore. Most of his angst came from not being on the ice with his team. Not being able to help in the push toward the playoffs. 

 

Having Dylan’s fingers combing through his hair like this helped him shut those thoughts up. He let out a content little sound without even thinking about it, and it earned him a kiss on the crown of his head. 

 

“I wouldn’t have figured you were a kitten,” Dylan said absently. “You just want scratches and very reluctant attention.” 

 

Jordie didn’t have a strong desire to agree or disagree. He just wanted to drift into the relaxed feeling of Dylan’s hands on him, Dylan’s chest under his head, the rhythm of his steady breaths, the beat of his heart. 

 

Jordie knew that if he let him, Dylan would keep going until he was asleep. Until he needed to get up and let Juice out or take something out of the oven. There wasn’t much that would pull Dylan away from him. 

 

Dylan was just indefinite comfort. Trust. Pure and true love. Home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to prompt me on my fic blog [here](http://betsywritesfic.tumblr.com), or you can follow my personal blog (mostly hockey) [here](http://thewestishharpooners.tumblr.com) :) No promises but if it sparks something for me I'll write it. I love seeing what you guys want out of this pairing. 
> 
> If something happens in real life and Jordie gets injured, I will burn something to the ground. This is not a premonition (I tell the universe).


End file.
